


Endgame

by Alagos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Drug Use, Episode: s05e04 The End, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alagos/pseuds/Alagos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After parting ways with Sam, ever-resolute Dean Winchester is determined to bring down Lucifer without handing himself over as a vessel to Michael in the process. With such an astronomical victory in mind, however, some losses are bound to strike along the way. The Croatoan virus, for instance, was never thwarted, and thus the world is in shambles. Even Heaven itself seems absent in this war. And although Castiel tries hard to be there for Dean, he finds himself too tightly woven into the humanity stripping him of his Grace and eventually falls to venomous habits.</p><p>Managing to scrape together a team of broken survivors, Dean claws his way through murderous Croats and demons to hunt down and put an end to Lucifer once and for all. But, of course, there's always the chance that he may not like what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endgame

**Author's Note:**

> There's just so much potential in the AU presented in 5x04, and I've been dying to put it into my own words. I want to describe in full how exactly things came to be in that distant 2014 post-apocalyptic pit of anguish. How Dean became so hardened that he went back to torturing, how Cas came upon all of his drug use, and of course, how their relationship may unfold only to be once again crumpled and thrown to the dogs. Need I say, then, that there will be lots of Destiel angst? Because there will be. Don't worry, though, there will be a good deal of romance to counteract it. Occasional smut, occasional fluff, y'know. The works.
> 
> I take a considerably long time to write, so please don't hate me. At least the chapters will be long!
> 
> Also, chapter two will explain a bit more of where Cas and Dean are right now and what they're doing out here. Patience, friend.
> 
> ALSO, also, this is the first thing I've ever posted on AO3. Be gentle with me. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing.

It was storming hard by the time the Impala pulled off of the main road and sought haven enclosed in the shadow of rain-laden pines a short way down a narrow gravel path. The road stretched fifty yards into the forest down a gentle slope, but the rain had picked up enough to the point that the gravel beneath the car's tires was giving way to mud still softened by the last rain to sweep through the area. Dean kept the toe of his boot firm against the Impala's brake peddle as he let the wheels roll carefully over the uneven ground, thumbing at the emergency brake as he did. Eventually, the road led to an iron gate on hinges, one that was meant only to keep vehicles out, and not people. There was no fence expanding from the gate to keep one from simply walking around it. Before the great iron slats, the road broadened into a pool of gravel, and so Dean pulled off to one side and threw the car into park but didn't pull the key from the ignition. He quietly eyed the gate and tried to gaze past it, but it was dark and not much could be gathered by what shone in the Impala's headlights. The road made a sharp turn just past the gate, and trees spilled in to fill the pocket of the bend, shielding the rest of the path from view. Dean huffed.

"What do you think, Cas?" he asked, still gazing emptily out the windshield. There came no answer. "... Cas?"

Dean glanced to the passenger seat to find Castiel's chin tilted to his chest and his eyelids having fallen shut. What little light fell through the window traced a sliver of the angel's motionless profile, and Dean was concerned for all of a second until Cas shifted and groaned, stretching and curling into himself before slackening his muscles once more and settling into the leather seat with a sigh.

He'd been sleeping a lot, lately. Which would be understandable, if not for the fact that he was kind of an _angel_ , and angels didn't need sleep. Dean recalled the first time he'd found Cas unconscious like this on the couch at Bobby's house a few months ago. He'd rushed to the angel's side, sliding to his knees on the old rug and gripping Cas's slumped form by the shoulders.

"Cas? Cas?" he'd said his name again and again, shaking him until Castiel's eyes snapped open and he gave a bit of a surprised snort.

"What? Dean -- what's going on?" The words had been clumsy and heavy with sleep, as though he hadn't entirely woken up yet, despite being shook into consciousness. He blinked around with wide and bewildered eyes before settling on Dean's perplexed demeanor and crinkling his brow in an almost saddened expression.

Dean had glared hard at him, then. "Dude, were you... _sleeping?_ "

"I..." Cas glanced around once more, this time down at his own tangled posture on the sofa, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. "I suppose I was."

Dean had tried to milk more of response from him that evening, but Cas didn't seem worried about the matter. Just... tired. Now, here, under the dripping pine trees in the dead of night, Dean had almost gotten used to Castiel falling asleep on him like this. He still had questions, he still wanted to know _why_ , but he wasn't going to push for answers that Cas didn't have.

As much as he didn't want to disturb the angel, Dean needed input on the current situation. And so he reached over and placed a hand on Cas's shoulder, giving a light shake.

"Cas," he spoke his name again, firmly but in an unhurried tone. "Cas, c'mon, wake up."

A sharp breath was his response, and soon after that, Castiel was throwing his head upright and rubbing his palms over his eyes. Luckily enough, he was a light sleeper. He then looked over at Dean with that awfully innocent, scrunched-up expression he normally wore directly after waking, and the hunter suppressed a smile at the ridiculous sight. For a moment, the only noise was the low rumble of the Impala's engine and the percussion of rain on the roof.

"I'm sorry," Castiel eventually mumbled, rolling his shoulders and yawning.

"Don't be," Dean said simply.

Cas stole a moment to take in their surroundings, eyes tracing along the gate a number of yards ahead. Then he reclined forward to look through the windshield up at the blackened sky. The break in the trees above them allowed for a torrent of rain to crash through, visible only in the great beams of light shot forth from the car and piercing through the forest.

"Where are we?" Cas wondered aloud.

"About twenty miles off interstate 90."

"And?"

"And it's pouring rain, I'm getting tired, and I'm sure as hell not stopping to rest in any town."

"You woke me to say that we're stopping... to sleep?" Cas's tone was mildly irritated, but simply inquisitive all at once.

"I woke you to ask if you think this is an alright place to sleep. I'd say we get out and have a look around, but, well..." Dean craned his neck and gazed up at the angry sky through the droplets on the window in much the same manner as Castiel had previously. "I think staying dry sounds pretty awesome."

"What do you think this road leads to?"

"Probably someone's property. Abandoned or not, we can't be sure. Not 'til morning."

"And if the rain doesn't let up by morning?"

"Then I'd rather check this place out while it's dumping and I can see than while it's dumping and I'm blind. Total downpour? Sure. Complete darkness? I'll take it. Both at the same time? That's a no-go." Dean gestured toward the engulfing night outside, turning to raise his brows at Castiel.

The angel frowned but didn't contend. "Whatever you say, Dean."

Pleased with the response, Dean let the topic go at that. In all honesty, he never actually needed Castiel to tell him what to do in this situation, but instead enjoyed having someone there to bounce his thoughts off of. It helped him to feel that he had come to the right conclusion. Even when Sam had used to disagree with him, it gave Dean the room to expand on his ideas and come up with more of a reason for _why_ he was right. Except -- Dean stopped, his expression falling blank. He wasn't going to think about Sam. Not now. He'd never sleep if he was to let those thoughts plague him now.

Suddenly desperate for a distraction, Dean threw a wild glance over his shoulder. After having left the engine running for so long -- too long -- he finally turned the key in the ignition and let the noise and vibration through the car's frame die to nothing. Without the illumination of the headlights, darkness rushed to fill every gap of the car's innards and spill around them. Twisting his body around, Dean blindly crawled over the front seat and fell into the back of the Impala, starting to rummage for the blankets he'd stashed on the floor. With the car's heater off, he knew it'd only be a matter of time before the outside cold was to creep through the glass and metal shielding them from the storm. But at least the fact that it was raining rather than snowing was a good enough sign that the temperature outside was above the freezing point. Still, by pressing his knuckles to the window, Dean could feel the bite of the frigid evening. It can't have been too far from 32 degrees.

Dean passed a couple of blankets forward to Castiel and then unfolded his own. "You're okay in the front?" he asked.

"I was sleeping here before, wasn't I?"

"Right."

There was a lull in the conversation. And then, "Dean, what happens if someone finds us here?"

"Don't worry about it, we'll be fine." As if to reassure himself, Dean traced the outline of the handgun hidden away in his jacket. "We'll wake up before anyone can get to us, in here. Shoot first, ask questions later, right?"

"Mm," was all Cas hummed.

It had only been minutes since turning the car off, and already, Dean could feel the cold settling in. It didn't help that he leaned back into the Impala's door, against the icy rain, as he curled his blankets tighter around himself. He gave a shiver and released his pent-up breath with a noisy and quavering exhale. At this, Cas looked over his shoulder.

"You're cold," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Dean grumbled in response.

"I could sit with you," Cas offered.

The hunter snorted. "We're not going to _huddle for warmth_ , if that's what you're thinking. It's not that cold. Really. _Maybe_ if it were ten below."

"But..." Castiel's voice suddenly dropped into a low and somewhat confused tone, though to be fair, most of what he did and said seemed confused a lot of the time. "I'm cold."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the notion. " _You're_ cold?" First exhaustion, now this? Something wasn't right with Cas, which Dean had understood the first time he'd witnessed the angel having fallen asleep. But to be affected by the cold, as well? Dean could never remember him complaining so much -- he couldn't remember him ever being so _human_.

He sighed. Alright, so maybe Cas was more sensitive to low temperatures than he himself was. After spending so many years on Earth not having to worry about freezing or boiling to death, to be so suddenly struck by the sensation of coldness may have come as a shock to the angel. Was it really sudden, though? He couldn't help but wonder. How long had Cas been affected by temperature and hadn't said anything about it?

"Well..." Dean rumbled just loud enough to hear over the roar of the storm. "I mean, if you want to bring your blankets to the back seat..."

If he could see Castiel's expression, Dean thought he might have been smiling. It wouldn't have been a blaring grin, but only a subtle curl of the lips, something that anyone else may have missed. It wasn't easy to decipher what was what across the angel's countenance, but Dean assumed he had a fair grasp of Cas's flickering emotions. That little not-quite-smile would have persisted as Cas complied and tossed his blankets back alongside Dean before climbing through to the back seat of the Impala.

"Careful with the upholstery," Dean hissed under his breath, hearing the leather groan in protest as Castiel clambered over it. Grumbling some means of appeasement, Cas settled down beside him then gripped one of the blankets and wrapped it around his shoulders before taking the other and unfolding it. He paused.

"If we share at least one blanket, it should double our body heat... right?" He glanced over at Dean through the darkness. The question came as though he didn't quite understand the physics behind this whole _body heat_ thing. Maybe it was something he'd never really considered, before.

Dean rolled his eyes, but gave an amused smirk. "Sure, I guess."

It wasn't until Castiel moved closer that Dean could tell he was actually shaking pretty hard. If Dean ever had needed proof that the angel really was being affected by the cold, then this was it. He turned so that the both of them were shoulder-to-shoulder, and he took the hem of the blanket from Cas's trembling fingers and brought it over to his side while Cas tucked it under himself as well. Then Dean carefully settled back into the corner of the leather cushion and the car door, legs sprawling over the edge of the seat and one knee brushing up against that of the angel. He didn't mind the small bit of physical contact, but it was when Cas suddenly leaned over and curled against his chest, drawing his blanket up to his chin with a particularly strong shudder, that Dean's muscles locked up in surprise. He didn't move an inch, after that. Cas shifted his weight and made himself comfortable, settling in between Dean's body and his arm so that Dean had no choice but to encompass Castiel in his hold with the one arm. The angel was close, too close, his strangely earthy scent was overpowering, and the feeling of his body so near was beyond foreign. Dean loathed the kick in his pulse and how he couldn't quite seem to rein his breath back in after it'd started to quicken and come in uneven puffs. But Cas didn't seem to notice. He let out a happy noise as the warmth of one another's bodies engulfed the both of them.

"Cas," Dean uttered, disappointed to hear his own voice crack. He cleared his throat, instantly deciding that it was a bad idea to try and then redistribute his weight, for as he moved, he could feel every inch of Castiel on top of him and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the location of the angel's pelvis pressed snugly to the side of his thigh.

"Yes, Dean?" Dean could feel the vibration of the sleepy hum even through the two blankets separating their bodies, and it earned him another little start in his chest. He took in a gulp of air to try and settle his nerves, but that proved to be an awful idea just as well, for Castiel's scent overwhelmed his senses at that point and he had to turn his head to the side with a slight hitch in his breath. It wasn't that Cas smelled bad -- no, not at all. It was really only that he smelled a little too _good_. It was all Dean could do to keep himself from seeking out the source of that scent and investigating. He wondered whether Cas would mind too much if he were to fit his nose underneath the hinge of his jaw and breathe in the aroma of the small locks curling around his ear and over the height of his neck, maybe nibble a bit at the bristly skin of his throat and --

Dean's thoughts took a hard left. This was _Cas_ he was thinking about. Just because the angel was so close now didn't give his damn hormones permission to take hold of the wheel.

Okay, deep breath. No, no, wait. No deep breaths. Bad idea. Shallow breaths.

Back to the issue at hand.

Cas had never been savvy with personal space. That was a given. But this was something else entirely. Wasn't this blatant at all to the angel? It had to have been a little off, even to him. And yet, he had collapsed against Dean and nestled into him as if it had been the most natural thing he could have done in that moment.

Dean meant to object, but instead something entirely different left his tongue, something he hadn't really given himself permission to say. "Are you good?" he croaked in an awkward and admittedly unattractive voice. In vain, he cleared his throat again.

Castiel let loose a very soft sigh, one which Dean could feel the warm, gentle gust of. "Yes, this is much better," he said in muffled air, shrugging his shoulders and turning his nose into Dean's chest. "Thank you."

"That's... Hmph. Uh, right. Awesome." Having already had his forearm barred across Castiel's shoulders -- it was either that or lay his arm flat and risk touching his ass -- Dean closed his fingers over the angel's upper arm and gave a reassuring, albeit hesitant squeeze. "'Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

So, that was that. Now what?

Dean hated the silence that followed the gentle, husky words, and so focused hard on the sound of the rain still pattering away at his back. The rhythmic and repetitive noise was hardly enough to rise above all that sought to draw his mind to darker thoughts. In his desperation, he even tried thinking about how Cas was still awake and how every slight motion that Dean made was felt and noticed by the angel -- they weren't pleasant thoughts, and in fact made him rather uncomfortable. But they were better than what lurked and lingered on the outer edges of his mind, waiting to rush in and drown him at the first chance. Now, Dean found himself suddenly self-conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, wondering if all that motion was making it difficult for Cas to fall asleep. There came a strong desire for Dean to shift his posture, but he dare not move with the angel laying limp atop him as he was.

The lack of freedom was a bit suffocating at first, but he found that as time moved on, the discomfort faded, even if just in the slightest. Perhaps it was because Castiel was quite obviously asleep now, breathing long and slow, his body absolutely slack against the hunter. It was still an odd sight, seeing him unconscious in this way -- or, rather, feeling him. There still wasn't enough light to see by, and Dean reckoned that unless the storm clouds cleared out and let through some moonlight, there wouldn't be any until sunrise. He sighed deep and tilted his head to the side, but froze when the small movement caused Cas to stir with a little roll of his shoulders. He waited to settle down once again until he was sure that Cas hadn't woken up. Then he moved his hand to the angel's upper back, tracing circles there with his thumb into the fabric of the blanket stretched across his shoulders. The slow, rhythmic motion and the constant static of rain grounded him. It was enough to allow him to shut his eyes, and for the sweet promise of slumber to sink blissfully into his clouded head. Maybe he'd be lucky; maybe sleep would come quickly tonight.

Well. At least he was warm.

\---

Dean couldn't be sure what exactly had woken him up -- he wasn't even certain of how long ago he'd fallen asleep. But when his eyes cracked open to gloomy light and silence, his first thought was that the rain had thankfully ceased. Light seemed to spill through the trees at every angle, and so it was impossible to tell the time of morning. But being that all appeared to have a grey, dusky hue, and that the forest still seemed swathed in shadow, Dean was willing to bet that the sun had just barely risen.

It was several moments before he really gained complete awareness of his surroundings, but once he had, Dean's memories struck him like a freight train. It took all of the self-control he could muster not to bolt out from underneath Cas, and instead he only went rigid all over in much the same way as when the angel had first pitched into him the previous night. Carefully, gradually, Dean unwound from the tension and released the long breath he had held back in his lungs, beginning to mentally search his body at every point that was being touched by Cas. He noticed that, in his sleep, Castiel had grown a bit more liberal in that he had released his hold on his own blanket and instead hugged his arms around Dean's torso and tangled his grip into the blanket betwixt his and the hunter's body. In fact -- that sheet wasn't even in between them any longer. It was crammed down beneath Dean's head and upper body, serving as more of a pillow than anything else, one that Dean had sunken down against and that Cas had buried his fists into. How had that gotten there, anyway?

Dean lifted his head to get a better view of what exactly was going on beneath his neck, but all he got out of the motion was a face-full of Cas's dark, ragged hair. He gasped as, again, that deep and almost offensively good smell invaded his senses and caused his head to fall back as if he'd been struck. The angel's hair was loaded ten-fold with Castiel's scent, and Dean didn't doubt for a second that he'd be catching whiffs of it all day now, being that the guy's head had been nuzzling into his chest for... what, four or five hours?

Angel's hair... wasn't that a kind of pasta?

Not important.

Dean wriggled a bit as he sat up, and in the process, Cas seemed to stir.

"'Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Dean grunted. "Wanna let me up?"

From the angle at which he looked down, Dean could see Cas's eyelashes flutter as he came into awareness. After the long moment it took for him to achieve a grasp of his surroundings, the angel instantly released his grip on the man's midsection and pressed his palms into the leather seat on either side of Dean's hips, pushing his body upright and glancing up to find himself face-to-face with the hunter.

He blinked those widened blue eyes. "Hello, Dean."

"Yeah, hi. Enjoying yourself? You didn't try and cop a feel in the middle of the night, did you?" When Cas only frowned and tilted his head in response, Dean rolled his eyes and tried to sit up further, leaning away from Cas's face, although there wasn't really anywhere else for him to go. He nodded in a forward gesture, glancing down from the angel's eyes and then back up again. "Off."

Castiel pulled the blanket from around his shoulders and drew himself up to his haunches, allowing for Dean to sit up enough to stretch his back and neck. Without missing a beat, the hunter did a routine check on all his pockets -- not that he suspected Cas had stolen anything off of his person. It was more of something like a thoughtless habit.

It took him some time to go through every little weapon and accessory he kept hidden. But when he came across his cell phone in particular, he pulled it out and flipped it open to check the hour. 6:37. Bobby had asked him to call by noon. At this moment, there was no cell service, but at least he had plenty of time to get to a location that would give him maybe a couple of bars, which meant that he and Cas should go about checking this property and hope nothing holds them up there.

"Ready to move out?" Dean glanced up to find Castiel sitting quietly, not having moved since he had pushed himself up and off of Dean.

"Yes."

Dean was expecting a bit more of an answer, even some questions to go along with it, but as he paused to allow for more, it was only filled with silence. Shrugging, he pushed his shoulder into the car door and tugged at the handle, immediately welcoming in a rush of cold, damp air. His boots crunched into mud and gravel, and his first instinct was to saunter around the Impala and check that the tires hadn't sunken too much into the rocky solution. Instead, all appeared well. When he came back around the rain-dotted hood, he found Castiel standing outside of the door, drawing the zipper of his jacket -- one Dean had loaned him -- to his chin. The wind had picked up since the previous night, clearing out all of the storm clouds, but also leaving a particularly frigid bite in the air.

"Why does the cold have to be so..." Cas began to say, billows of steam swathing about his words as his shoulders gave a strong shudder.

Dean cracked a grin. "Cold?"

Cas looked up at him with that kicked-puppy kind of frown and, in all seriousness, nodded. "Yes."

Dean walked around to the hind end of the Impala and popped the trunk to browse his arsenal. He kept it modest, strapping the holster of a sawed-off shotgun to his right thigh and leaving a Desert Eagle hung at his left hip. He gave a careful once-over of the rest of the weapons lined before him. Pump-action shotguns and assault rifles would be unnecessary. Blades, he wanted to try and avoid.

"I dunno what to tell you, Cas," he said, finally resting a palm at the hood of the trunk and pushing it down with a satisfying clunk. "Might wanna ask your old man about that one."

"You know I can't do that, Dean," the angel mumbled.

"Yeah, about that..." Dean approached him in a heavy lumber and halted directly before him, holding out a handgun and a holster. "Are you feelin' alright? I mean, this whole _getting cold_ and _sleeping_ business... It's not you."

Castiel ignored the question, instead gesturing to the firearm Dean was offering to him. "What's this?"

"A precaution."

"That won't be necessary."

Dean's expression hardened. "Cas, I dunno about you, but I'm noticing something a little off with your mojo, lately. If we run into trouble, I wanna be sure that you can protect yourself. We don't know what'll happen to you if one of those bastards gets its paws on you, and I don't wanna find out. So, humor me. Please."

After some serious persuasion from the unwavering and expectant crinkle in Dean's brow, Castiel begrudgingly took the holster from the hunter's hands. Before strapping it around his waist like Dean had shown him quite some time ago, he unzipped his jacket and then tucked his shirts in under the hem of his jeans, just to give himself better access. When Dean then handed him the gun, he popped out the magazine to briefly inspect its contents, popped it back in again, checked that the safety was on, and then holstered it at his hip -- more habits that had been hammered into him when the human had taught him all about firearms.

Dean gave a wry smirk and clapped a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Attaboy."

With that, he led the way up to the iron gate and, instead of walking around it, made a point to press his palms into the top slat and hurdle his legs over to the other side. Castiel, having a touch more decency, opted to circle the gate and jog to catch up with Dean further down the path. Around the bend of the road, a single building came into view, and it seemed that Dean had been right. It appeared to be a private property, a two-story cabin with two cars parked in the long driveway. The presence of these cars made Dean uneasy, and it was then that he pulled the magnum free from its holster and cocked back the hammer. Chances were that somebody -- or something -- was at home and waiting.

"Keep close," he breathed. He could see Castiel's curt nod in his peripheral vision, but to his dismay, the angel didn't pull his own weapon.

They approached the cabin quietly, carefully. Once they'd neared enough so that no trees were blocking the view, Dean caught sight of a spiral of dark smoke coiling from a chimney climbing one of the outer walls. As he listened, there was no sound from inside that he could make out. The only noise to reach his ears was that of the deep forest, soft and quiet in the dim morning light, capturing every twig snap and crow call in a distant echo through the trees. The gravel road turned to pavement as they neared the cars in the driveway, and something that constituted as a lawn, though it was overgrown and browning, cushioned its edge and led up to the front porch. Dean climbed the wooden steps and Cas followed until they were side-by-side on the mud-encrusted welcome mat. All of the curtains on the windows visible from this point were drawn. After exchanging a glance with the angel alongside him, Dean dropped his gun-wielding hand to his side and leaned in to rap against the door with the back of his knuckles.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone home?"

They waited several moments. Silence.

"Perhaps there are people asleep in there," Castiel suggested. "It is early, after all."

"Nobody sleeps in during the apocalypse," Dean grunted. "Besides, someone's gotta be awake to watch the fire they've got burning." Forming a fist and knocking again, harder this time, he shouted, "Anyone in there?"

The both of them froze and took a step back when a sudden shuffling noise came from directly behind the door. Dean's grip tightened on the magnum held down beside his thigh and his pale eyes fixed into a hardened glare. A number of locks could be heard clicking on the other side of the door before it cracked open and the face of a middle-aged woman appeared some few inches beneath Cas and Dean. She was wearing a bathrobe and pajama bottoms, her feet were bare, and her dusky hair was tied back into a bun. Warmth and the heavy, rich scent of coffee spilled from behind the door and distracted Dean for all of a second before he focused back on the woman and searched her for what few signs of infection he had memorized as surefire giveaways. She seemed clear, but he couldn't be certain until he could hear her speak.

Right on cue, the woman said to them, "Who are you? What do you want?" in a low, wary tone.

Dean glanced over to Cas, who was already gazing steadily at him. The hunter gave a small shake of his head. She wasn't infected.

"Uh... Sorry to bother you, ma'am." Dean cleared his throat, turning his eyes back in her direction with a sudden air of friendliness. He tucked his magnum behind his back. "We've been traveling for awhile, and we noticed this road of yours leading off the highway. We thought it might be some abandoned property for us to camp out at, but, ah..." He took a step back and swept his gaze along the front of the cabin before meeting the woman's eyes again with a charming grin and a shrug. "Clearly, it's not abandoned."

She narrowed her eyes. "What're your names?"

"Oh, I'm Tom Jones. This is my buddy Jimmy." He could feel Cas shoot him a glare. Something about how using his vessel's name was almost as dangerous as using his real name, blah blah blah. It was a spur of the moment reaction, the first thing that Dean could think of. Castiel would have to deal with it.

The woman softened slightly. "I'm, uh... I'm Diane," she said. Dean responded with a smile. Maybe his naive, boyish facade was working to some degree. "We only ever used this home in the summer, but my family and I decided to move out here when everything..." Diane paused with a troubled expression, searching for the right words with which to explain. 

"It's okay, we understand," Cas spoke up. When Dean stole a glance in the angel's direction, he was wearing a very gentle demeanor, giving Diane an encouraging nod. He made a good substitute for Sam in these sort of vulnerable heart-to-heart situations.

Wait -- no, stop. Not thinking about that.

"Diane," Dean said hurriedly, swiveling his head and looking the woman right in the eye. "Sorry if I'm being a little forward, but do you, by any chance, have running water?"

"Why... yes, we do."

"Great. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

Castiel turned a warning glare to the man. "We should be leaving, De -- _Tom_." Dean gave a small smile and a cocked brow at the mishap.

"Jimmy, man," he laughed, though there was no true joy in the forced gesture, "you know how long it's been since I've used an actual toilet?"

"How long have you boys been on the road?" Diane sounded legitimately concerned.

"A couple of weeks." That was a lie. They'd left Bobby's place just yesterday.

Something maternal lit up in Diane's eyes. "That's too long to be out and about, if you ask me," she said, hesitating only in the slightest before pulling the door fully open and standing to the side. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, motioning across the room to the entrance of what appeared to be a hallway. "The restroom is the first door on the right. Be quiet, please, there are people sleeping upstairs."

Dean grinned his thanks and shuffled a step back, nodding for Cas to go first and placing a hand on his shoulder to usher him forward, giving a gentle push with lingering fingertips. The angel did so, and Dean took the opportunity to hang back for just a fraction of a second to holster his gun. Being that he had a goddamn sawed-off strapped to his thigh, he knew that he wasn't being very subtle with the fact that he was carrying weapons. But he preferred not to enter the woman's home waving a magnum pistol all around.

If Diane noticed the firearms, then she didn't seem to mind. Either she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, or she was more dangerous than she appeared. Dean was willing to bet in favor of the former. She'd just invited two strange, _armed_ men into her house without a second thought. Who does that during an apocalypse? He and Cas could easily rob her of everything they could carry, especially considering the interior of the cabin was actually very nicely adorned. Not that any of it would have much monetary value these days, but Dean reckoned that there were quite a few survival necessities loaded up in this place if more than one person was successfully living here in the long-term.

He kept these thoughts in mind as he made his trek to the bathroom and did his business, taking pleasure in how clean and well-maintained everything appeared. It almost seemed normal, as though this one cabin housing this one family had gone completely untouched by the devastation rending the world beyond.

When he returned to the welcoming warmth of the den, wiping his hands on his jeans, he found Castiel seated on the edge of a couch cushion with a steaming mug in his hands cradled close to his chest. Firelight was illuminating his seemingly passive expression -- although Dean knew that there was more behind those clear eyes than what was apparent -- bringing to life the flickering shadows carving out his features. He had shed his jacket and left it draped over the back of the sofa, and so all that was left clinging to his torso was a long-sleeved button down open to reveal the hints of a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. Again, both were borrowed from Dean's wardrobe. In fact, as he gave the angel a careful once over, he noticed that he wasn't wearing a single article of his _own_ clothing. Dean blamed himself for telling Cas that he needed to be a bit more casual with the way he dressed. It's not like he had anything more than that dress shirt and trench coat lying around, so he really should have seen it coming, even if his clothes were a bit of an over-sized fit on Cas. It was more comical than anything else, really.

Just as Cas was lifting the mug to his lips, he glanced up to find Dean focusing an incredulous gaze down his nose at him.

"Whatever happened to 'we should be leaving'?"

Cas flicked his attention down to the rim of his mug and then back up again. "She offered me coffee."

"Yeah? Since when do you drink coffee?" Dean fell into step and directed himself to Castiel's side, settling onto the couch, leaning backward, and stretching an arm out over where Cas's shoulders would have been if he were sitting back as well.

"It's very good. I like it."

"Would you like some, Tom?"

Dean glanced up to see Diane hovering in the doorway to what he assumed was the kitchen, light pouring out from behind her. She wore a weary but genuine smile.

"No, that's alright... thanks," he replied.

Before Dean could mention that they needed to be going soon, Cas spoke up as Diane wandered into the room to tend to the fire. He said, "You don't seem at all bothered by our firearms."

The hunter gritted his teeth and swung a sharp look in the angel's direction. To his surprise, though, Diane only laughed softly without looking up from the cinders erupting at the touch of iron sifting through the charred logs.

"My husband is a veteran who taught his wife a thing or two," she chuckled. "I know how to handle myself around weapons. Besides, if you had any intent of harming me, you'd have hidden those guns better." She turned away from the fireplace and offered that same tired grin as before. "It's okay, boys. The world's a little scrambled, right now. You've gotta do what you've gotta do. I understand."

Dean glanced between Diane and Castiel, blinking a number of times. Cas had narrowed his eyes at the woman and Dean could see the gears turning in his thoughts as he worked to figure out the new complexities presented by this strange human. It was a facial expression that the angel had, for the most part, grown out of after all the years he'd spent on Earth. Though, every now and again, it would resurface when some unfamiliar experience puzzled him. Dean had grown rather fond of it, reveling in the nostalgia whenever Cas was truly confused by something. It sort of reminded him of a simpler time.

Simple... Was that a concept he had ever even known?

The thought was interrupted fairly abruptly by the low rumble of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. Instinctively, Dean's hand fell to the magnum at his hip, though he made no motion past that one to draw the weapon. He stood from the couch and eyed the frames of the window alongside the front door, glaring hard at the curtains as though he might be able to see past them.

"Oh, thank God," he heard Diane say hardly above a broken whisper. Addressing Dean, she murmured a touch louder, "It's alright, that's only my husband. He, my brother, and our two sons left yesterday to go on a supply run."

Dean's brow settled in heavy folds. "A supply run? Where?"

"I'm not sure," Diane said slowly. "Pierre, I think."

"Pierre?" The hunter's expression turned to stone as he swung sharp eyes toward the woman, vocal tone dropping to a callous growl. "They went all the way to Pierre?"

"Well, Pierre has very few survivors, I hear --"

"Yeah, exactly. Pierre has few survivors. What the hell do you think is living there, instead?"

"Tom," Cas warned with a strong hint of exasperation. Whether it was due to Dean's behavior or having to use that ridiculous fake name was hard to tell. No matter the case, one glance in his direction told Dean that Cas was more ticked off than usual.

"My boys know how to handle themselves," Diane nearly snarled, growing defensive in tone and posture.

A car door slammed shut somewhere outside, and then another.

"I'm sorry, but all my years in this business have told me to always assume otherwise," Dean huffed.

"'This business'? What does that mean? What business?"

"I think it's time we leave." Castiel was suddenly by Dean's side, having set his mug of coffee down and placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. Dean couldn't make out whether it was a warning or a reassurance.

There were footsteps on the porch outside. Heavy boots clunked in their own slow drawl up to the doorway and then stopped. A number of moments later, more footsteps came up after the first ones. A calm fist knocked twice at the wood and a male voice called in a single drawn-out word, "Diane?" Dean's brow pinched together and he took a step away from the front door, bumping back into Castiel's shoulder. There was something eerie and familiar in that tone, something dark, something that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter's neck and gripped his spine in a shiver. Before he could give voice to the concern creeping into his nerves, Diane was striding forth and taking the door handle in her palm.

"Diane, wait --" Dean hissed, but it was too late.

"It's already unlocked, Ron," she said in a smile as she pulled the door open to welcome in two older adult men and two teenage boys. When Dean glanced up to flick his gaze over each of their faces, he was met with lifeless, unnerving half-smiles. A rush of cold surged through his veins and numbed his limbs.

Diane moved in to wrap her arms around the neck of the man at the forefront of the small group. After releasing him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, let him pass, and proceeded to do the same with the three others that filed into the house. Each act of fondness was met with a blaring and overly-affectionate grin.

"Dean," Cas breathed, his hand back on the hunter's shoulder, this time actively pulling him closer. Side-by-side with the angel now, Dean hovered a hand over his holstered pistol, a silent snarl drawing back his lips.

"Who are these fellas?" Ron's brow pinched above the bridge of his nose, but his grin remained. Diane moved to his side and he placed an arm around her shoulders, not taking his sharp eyes off of Dean and Castiel. "Are you boys the reason that there's an Impala parked outside my gate?"

"They said their names were Tom and Jimmy. And, actually, they were just leaving. Weren't you, now?"

"Sorry, Diane," Dean grunted. The woman's smile faltered and her eyes grew colder. "I'd love to get out of your hair, trust me, but it looks like things just got a lot more complicated."

"What the hell do you mean?" Diane snapped, fearless to show the anger rising in her demeanor.

"I mean, I'm gonna have to ask you to step away from that thing." As he spoke these words, Dean pulled his gun and trained it upon the man in question.

"What in God's name do you think you're --?"

"That ain't your husband, Diane," the hunter spoke up above the woman's gasp. "At least, not anymore."

Diane's fingers curled into Ron's shirt. The silence and overall lack of what would have been a proper response to being threatened from Ron himself, the other man, and the two boys was the only answer Dean needed.

"You psychopath! You have no idea what you're talking about!" cried Diane, squeezing tighter on her husband.

Dean wove a hapless smirk into his lips. "No, you see, luckily for you, I do know what I'm talking about." He shifted his posture, tightened his finger over the trigger, and narrowed his eyes, a sudden fierceness clawing its way to the surface of his already venomous expression. "Damn if I don't know what a fuckin' Croat looks like."


End file.
